Free What She Doesn't Know by Beverly Barton Page B

The grounds appeared unchanged: the same trees, same manicured lawn, the shrubbery and flowers identical to the ones she remembered. And the mansion was as it had been, a remarkable tribute to days gone by. Of course standing outside her SUV and looking in through the closed gates, she couldn’t be sure that on closer inspection she wouldn’t find minor differences. And there was no telling what Georgette had done to the interior of the house that had been in her mother’s family since before the War Between the States. The very thought of that woman living in her mother’s home, being the mistress of Belle Rose and possibly sleeping in Audrey Royale’s bed turned Jolie’s stomach.
    Her inner child longed to drive through the gates and go home to Belle Rose. Memories of her childhood flickered through her mind like faded scenes from a silent movie. Sitting in her father’s lap as he read to her. Her mother coming into her room at night to brush her hair just before tucking her into bed. Playing “Chopsticks” on the piano with Aunt Lisette. Running through the house like galloping horses with Theron Carter when they were grade-school age. Aunt Clarice and she at the kitchen table, laughing and telling silly little jokes as they nibbled on Yvonne’s freshly baked molasses cookies.
    Jolie sighed and shook her head, then got back in the Escalade and started the engine. She could return to Belle Rose, but she could never go home again, never recapture those happy, carefree days before…
    After she had been released from the hospital twenty years ago and her father had brought her home, she had felt terrified for weeks and unable to leave her room without someone staying at her side. Every time she walked out onto the landing, she could see Aunt Lisette’s body sprawled at the top of the stairs. And downstairs she had balked at the kitchen door, refusing to go inside. She knew what she would see there—her mother’s body. And she sensed exactly what she would feel. Sheer panic. The murderer had shot her three times and left her for dead there in the kitchen. And no matter how hard she had tried to remember something—anything—about the killer, her mind refused to cooperate. After all these years, she truly believed that she had never seen the person, that there was no way she could identify him or her. But three months after the Belle Rose massacre, someone had tried to drown Jolie when she’d gone swimming in the pond on the estate.
    Someone had been afraid she might remember.
    Jolie had sneaked out of the house that day, desperately wanting to be alone. It had seemed to her that she was watched every waking minute. Either Aunt Clarice or Yvonne or her father kept constant tabs on her; even the household day workers had, too. The employees had been curious about poor, crazy Jolie Royale, who had survived the brutal massacre only to lose her mind.
    That day she wore her bathing suit under her clothes—a two-piece suit that had been a top seller in Aunt Clarice’s downtown boutique. The July sun was unmercifully hot, so the cool spring-fed water of the pond felt refreshing. She swam the length of the pond a couple of times, oblivious to her surroundings, experiencing a freedom she hadn’t known in months. No haunting memories.
    No watching eyes. But suddenly she heard someone enter the pond and dive under the water. Thinking perhaps it was Sandy or even Theron, who had not yet gone away to college, she didn’t panic. Not at first. But when a hand grabbed her foot and yanked her under, she suddenly realized the murderer had returned to finish the job. She kicked and squirmed and somehow managed to free herself. She swam to the edge of the pond, hurried to gain her footing on the soft, mushy ground and then, leaving her clothes behind, ran as fast as she could through the woods. Not once did she look back, not until she reached Belle Rose and saw